


Tears. Only Tears.

by peterpandesal



Category: Infinite (Band), Infinite - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-03 17:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14574066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterpandesal/pseuds/peterpandesal
Summary: Woohyun grapples with the truth after all these years.





	1. Still

 

**_13th hour_ **

 

 

“Hyung?” that tender, small voice comes into the room after the door creaks, and light is shed in the un-illuminated room I am in. “Do you need anything?”

I remain seated on the floor with my back on him, unmoving. From what I could hear the boy on the door does a small sigh—I could even guess him biting his lower lip in frustration. “If you need anything, hyung,” my dongsaeng’s deep voice says, trying again. “Just tell me. Tell us, okay?” I think that for a moment he expects for a reply, which I half-want to give him, but I stay in my pose. So he closes back the door and the darkness of the room takes over once more—really dark that I could see nothing, even the slightest hint of light. This is kind of appropriate since this is exactly how I see my life right now.

I have been staying in this position for thirteen straight hours. No bathroom breaks, no food, no drinks. Just me inside the room filled with objects, my butt as if glued to the floor and I remain seated there, staring blankly into space, thinking of nothing but ultimately of everything, and it will only take a matter of time for the brokenness of me takes on the surface; to break down, to hurl whatever that can be hurled, to break whatever that is left to break, just to see something to accompany me. To have something broken beyond repair. To have something exactly as I am now.

I suck in air with my mouth and for a moment, I think I have forgotten how to breathe. The thought of finally getting up from here visits my mind, but I easily toss it off. If I will have to stay in this position forever, then forever I shall. Thinking about tomorrow, or what will happen the next minute, the next second, will be as important as nothing. I see nothing but I know I am staring at the wall—or at least, I think so; but as I get confused whether the darkness I see is caused by the closing of my eyes or the absence of light itself, the words, like a string, weave themselves together in my mind, forming very familiar verses—

 

_I don’t even have the right to get close to you_

_Don’t love me_

_I don’t have the ease of being able to give you my heart_

_I live every day beyond my strength_

_Each day is too much so I cry_

 

 There is a light feeling in my chest, one that I just realized that is actually present, all this time. I lower my head a little, holding my breath—right then and there, like that; as I try to feel whatever that is causing this. Then I discover that why it is light, is because it’s empty. It’s a black peace; one that makes you feel everything has been taken away from you, and the only thing in you is that void itself. The melody is like an earworm—it plays itself along with the lyrics, with the voice of who is in my mind right now. I could imagine him with his mouth opening, forming shapes, chanting the words with that voice of his that makes it come out as a pleasant spell. One would be easily moved when they’d hear him, even I, myself, but now, I don’t know why—nothing comes out. No emotion comes out. No tear comes out.

 

 

                                                                                                                                                                       


	2. Those

 

**_18th hour_ **

 

 _I’m holding back, even though it hurts_  
Even tears are a luxury for me  
  


 

Wrong.

All of that’s wrong.

I can feel nothing now. Nothing at all. See, I’m even emotionless right now. I should remain unforgiven. I am despicable.

That voice of his plays in my head. Those slightly huge two front teeth that mainly caused him to be sometimes referred to as a chipmunk—that mouth that spoke no words except of dissatisfaction, those—those—those— _lips_ that spoke words of affection for me, though in their vague ways.

Those lips are haunting me right now.

I wish I could tell him these things.

I can say I have been pretty much pleasing the deuce now, judging from the state of my mind and my lack of want to keep on living. I may sound exaggerating, yes—but try putting yourself in my shoes, I dare say you’d end up much like me now. Maybe you’d cry, maybe you’d want to flip things, go throw a fit; but even by the mere thought that you can let out your feelings I am driven envious by you. You would not eat, you would cry yourself to sleep at night, do that again and again thinking you may never be able to move on, but eventually you will learn to, because there is still a bit of humanity left there in yourself. You’d want people to guide you back, away from your perdition—and they will be able to rescue you.

 

For that, I am jealous of you.

 

But take a look at me. Now—do you see me? I’m living, but dead. My body’s present, but my soul’s nowhere to be found. I’m alive, but my heart is buried someplace else, maybe in hell. I’m empty. I’m broken. I am beyond repair. I can never put myself up to be put back into pieces again.

All those wasted options. All those years I have wasted. It is only now that, several years later, do I realize how much I have lost. How much I have missed out, how many chances I have blew up to patch back this relationship. I’ve let pretty much everything slip through my fingertips, didn’t I? Stop worshipping me. Stop looking at me like the way you do. I’m a coward.

I think they despise me now, seeing that I’m not shedding even a single tear. They think I don’t have even just a modicum of care. Do I? Do I even have the right, at all? If sitting for eighteen whole hours here in this dark room gives you any impression of penitence, will that be enough? Because for me, it isn’t. Nothing will ever be.

 

I’m sorry if I had to end up everything in a process faster than anything else. For being altogether too sensitive, for being selfish. Did I have a choice back then? I did. But I didn’t realize I had so. I only thought of myself. Is it too late now, to apologize? Because I really want to do that now.

 

 

_“Hyung,” Sungjong pops out of nowhere._

_“Ne?”_

_“Sungyeol-hyung has thought of something,”_

_“What is it?”_

_“What if we throw a surprise birthday party for Gyu-hyung?”_

_“Oh?” Myungsoo is even the first one to react instead of me. “How will we do that? Won’t he suspect?”_

_“Sure he will,” Sungjong answers. “But let’s try to be as stealthy as possible.”_

_And the two snicker at that, giggle, even; and while they ponder and merge ideas on how to throw the pleasant surprise, I merely stay there, nonchalantly drinking water, listening but of no interest. Soon enough Sungyeol himself comes into the room, and on the dinner-table they discuss what should be done, who should be assigned to do this and that, et cetera. Indeed, despite of Sunggyu-hyung’s often-mistaken as antagonistic nature towards the members they seem to be very enthusiastic about this. Well, though some people may say that Sunggyu-hyung looks like he hates living he_ does _care for us in more ways than one. What the fans see and hear about him are true, yes; he bosses us around too much, he’s a little too OC; he’s tyrannical at times, especially to maknae; but hyung—he’s the type that would show his care in the way he knows. Let me get this straight—yeah, he KNOWS how to care; believe it or not._

 

_“What about you, hyung?” Sungjong’s voice brings me back to reality. “Any suggestions?”_

_“Eh?” I look up from the glass I have been shifting in my hands. “Nothing, really; just do whatever you want. I’ll just sit here and tell me what to do.”_

_“If you say so,”_

_“When are we gonna throw the party, anyway?” Jongie turns to Yeol._

_“Right on the date.” The older male answers. “We’re all free during that.”_

_I frown. “I don’t think so.”_

_“What? Why?”_

_That’s three days from now. I have shooting on that day. Do they not know? “I have filming during that.”_

_“But…hyung…”_

_Myungsoo looks up at me with something I could not name. Anger, maybe? “Hyung, you_ know _you have to attend this party, right?”_

_I stand up, a little too swiftly. “It’s not my fault my taping was scheduled on Gyu-hyung’s birthday,”_

_Sungjong ruffles his head in annoyance. “Alright, alright. Let’s put this simply: Woohyun-hyung, you can’t come to hyung’s party?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“I don’t see any hint of trying in you.” Myungsoo narrows his eyes at me._

_“What are you saying?” I raise a brow at him._

_“You_ know _what I’m talking about, Nam Woohyun.”_

_Anger flares up inside me suddenly, due to the lack of respect in the statement; with one hand I take Myungsoo by the collar. “There should be a hyung in there somewhere,” I say with a shaky, furious voice, squeezed from gritted teeth._

_“Oh I know,” Myungsoo smirks, and that makes me shake my fist._ “Nam Woohyun. _If you’re trying to fool us, you can stop now, really. Is it really that hard for you to just voice out what you want to say? We’re not blind. We can see what’s going on. Sunggyu-hyung just shuts up about it because he wants to leave you alone.”_

_I knit my brows, and exhale with a rough breath. After a moment of being silent and trembling, I let go of Myungsoo’s collar, and sigh. “Just tell me how the party went,” I walk out._

 

 

 

This is starting to become unbearable. It has to be. But why do I feel no pain in me? Have I lost the ability to care? Or maybe because the pain is too much, that I’m already numb?

Where are my tears?

“Hyung?” maybe it’s just my imagination, but that thought is corrected when the door is closed behind him when the boy enters. He endures the darkness and joins me in it. I could feel him sitting beside me and put a hand on my shoulder. “I think he wants to see you,” Myungsoo says.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> re-reading this fic is a big cringe fest. i was, what, 15 when i wrote this?


	3. Soft

 

_I don’t even have the right to look at you  
Don’t look at me_

 

**_19th hour_ **

 

“Hyung.”

Myungsoo’s beauty barely did any change. If it did, it only made him look handsomer, and though it was years since the last time we exhibited ourselves in public for a song, Myungsoo is still Myungsoo, of course he will always be, but now that he had served in the military, I still haven’t been used to the idea of him being well-disciplined—way _more_ disciplined than he used to be. He had put on a harder face now, especially at this time wherein everyone must be strong for the other, dreading the imminent loss that can never be avoided.

“He wants to see you, hyung; really, it will be fine,” he gives me a light push on the back as we stand in front of Gyu-hyung’s door.

There is no fear, no worry in me. Just pure reluctance. Complete and utter reluctance, because as I try to predict what might happen once I am inside, too many things crowd in my mind that I have no idea how things will go, how I will face him, after all these years.

Nevertheless, I find my hand twisting the knob, and the door slowly opens, creaking.

Several pairs of eyes immediately drown me upon my ingress. Some are worried, some are cold, some are judging. I develop sudden interest on the floor, as I walk towards a space where I could sit. “Here, Woohyun-hyung,” maknae flaps his hand at my direction and says that in a hushed voice. Once I am seated he smiles at me with that pretty smile of his. “How are you?”

Finally, I regain my ability to speak. My mouth slowly opens, and in the process of speaking, I find out that my saliva has dried out. “Could be fine. Could be worse,”

There is a steady hum in the room, accompanied by the heavy air that hovers over us. We merely sit in the room, doing nothing, every form of life as still as death while the silent war goes on, with each of us trying to bear with each other because we have no choice. I bet they were talking a while ago, and my entrance was the only thing that took to end the happy conversation.

“Sunggyu-hyung looks happy today, look,” Sungjong’s eyes smile along with his mouth, and I follow the path of his gaze, and it leads me to the dying figure on the bed. I look at Kim Sunggyu, _the_ Kim Sunggyu,  our leader when we were still known as the globally-known band Infinite, the one whom we were accustomed to bully, called Loser several times, and who got persecuted because of his very small, slit-like eyes. He was strong; though he seemed unhappy and discontented about everything most of the time, he was a happy man. He had us, he had _me—_ we all loved him. But now, what I see is a breathing corpse.

I bite my tongue as I try my best not to blurt out, _Where’s the happy in that? He’s dying._ My brows furrow as I manage to take the monosyllable out of my throat, “Yeah.” but deep inside me, I vehemently disagree. Sunggyu-hyung looks so weak now, he’s lost a lot of meat that I question, do the nurses that tend him here really feed him? His brown skin has gotten really fair now—the unpleasant, pale type of white that  makes him look almost transparent under the yellow light.

The guy does some shifting in his position, and I don’t know if he sensed us—but he opens his eyes and my entire being shakes as my eyes are the first ones he meets with his. If I were standing up, the scaffolds of my body structure would have collapsed, and that would have disgraced me more than I already had.

“Good afternoon, hyung,” my seatmate, the angel he is, greets benignly.

Kim Sunggyu smiles back. He opens his mouth, and I regret not covering my ears. “Hi guys,” he greets, in a raspy, ghostly voice, you could use it as a voice-over for a monster in a movie. It sounds like rusting hinges and crackling of autumn leaves… you could imagine nails being stuck in his throat.

“How is Gyu-nim?” Howon says, while he stands with his hands in pockets. “Haven’t you been eating hyung? You know, not eating doesn’t make you buff,” he jokes.

The chuckle he gets for a reply comes in the form of cracking sounds, like what you hear on the TV when there is no reception, or a radio detecting no frequency. “Y-y-you-u would l-lose the want t-to e-eat i-if you were me, H-Howon…” each stammer damages my ears.

Hoya immediately frowns at that.

“Don’t speak, hyung,” Sungyeol, who had been positioned on the bed-side all along, puts a finger on Gyu-hyung’s mouth. “Don’t speak.” Our once popularly-known as Choding has gotten very mature ever since his service in the military.

With a trembling hand, Gyu-nim removes Yeol’s hand. He looks at him in the eyes and telepathically sends him _Let me be._ “They s-said it w-was idiopathic…” it surprises me when hyung catches my gaze once more.

“Idiopathic?” Dongwoo-hyung asks. “What does that mean?”

“No apparent cause,” Myungsoo answers. He looks at Sunggyu-hyung for permission. Hyung nods once. L turns back at us. “I looked up his data. He has pulmonary fibrosis, idiopathic, that is.”

“But hyung…” Sungjong’s brows meet. “You really have no idea what happened?”

“It started when he got out of the army,” Myungsoo replies on Gyu-nim’s behalf, still in a steady voice.

 

No one could think of a reply for that. Before the silence gets too long the invalid speaks once more, “H-how are you, Sungjong?”

Jongie looks up from his lap and forces a smile, though from my view his eyes are getting shiny. “I am fine, hyung. Though I kind of miss the tyrant that bullies me…” the sentence trails off, and Sungjong’s Adam’s apple moves up and down in his struggle to talk in a fair voice.

Gyu-hyung’s ear-sore chuckle is heard again. He makes a gesture for him to come.

Sungjong obediently walks towards the bed in silent steps, and he takes Gyu-hyung’s hand with both of his, lips quivering and tears threatening to skid down any moment. “Yes, hyung?”

“I-I…will only say this once, so y-you b-better lis-sten…”

From his standing position Jongie squats down. Since he’s gotten so much taller now—I could say he’s as tall as Sungyeol, he didn’t want his hyung to effort much on looking up. “I will, hyung,” he bites his lower lip.

“Listen…if…if there was ever a time t-that I w-was t-too c-cruel to you…I-I want t-to apologize…”

Sungjong smiles through his tears. “Oh, there is, hyung. There is,” he jokes, though Dongwoo-hyung’s howl is already fairly audible inside the room.

Sunggyu-hyung smiles at him softly.

“You can still apologize a little later, hyung. I want you to be with me when I go to the army. I want you to be there when I go to the camp. To bid me farewell, to tell me you and the guys will wait for me; you telling me you will have fun and play while I’m not around, make me jealous of that…and wish me to be manlier than I am already, now, see—“ Sungjong’s voice finally cracks.

Howon, Sungyeol, Myungsoo, especially Dongwoo-hyung—they are all crying. Hoya and Myungsoo try to hide it, but fail miserably. Me? I’m just sitting here, looking at them. Nothing even clouds my sight. My hand touches a cheek, it’s not even moist. I’m completely emotionless over this.

The invalid talks again. “I…I will still be able to, S-Sung-j-jong…but you won’t see me…” every breath is smuggled out.

“Don’t say that, hyung!” Sungjong sounds pleading more than angry. “Stop acting like that…” he bows his head and buries his face in the cloth of hyung’s bed-sheets.

“Shh…” Gyu-hyung makes this sound and with another hand, he pulls Sungjong’s head closer to his mouth. He kisses his forehead with closed eyes, brotherly, affectionately. “Come on over, Dongwoo, Hoya…”

“Gyujiji!” Dongwoo-hyung pathetically tries to exclaim happily, though it’s visible the trial is killing him. “Not in a pretty shape, are we, hyung?”

 _Stop it. Stop joking, every one of you. Stop making him laugh like nothing’s wrong._ I think, and my anger boils inside me with every second Gyu-nim’s laughter is heard.

“Hoya, Dongwoo…” hyung makes them stoop down a little. Slowly, he ruffles their hair. “I-I…p-put you in-charge n-now…G…Ggol-Gyu’s l-le…leaving…”

“You’re not going anywhere, hyung,” Hoya grunts impatiently, with hints of crying here and there. “Stop being the loser than you already are…”

“Y-you tr-treat your hy-hyung like this, you?” the three laugh lightly, _carefully_ , at the joke. For a closing remark Gyu-hyung says, “I…will not b-be G-Ggol-Gyu the n-next…time, we meet…”

“But you will forever be,” Dongwoo strives to laugh. “Ggol-Gyu, Grandpa Gyu, our Kim Sunggyu...But will we meet again sometime, hyung?”

A slow nod of the head. After that, the MyungYeol duo is called. “Y-you two,” Gyu-nim starts. I could only hear faintly now; they’re all crowding the bed. “Just…b-be h-happy, a…all of you, o…okay?”

“Yes, hyung,” they all say in chorus. And for the first time, I feel like the outcast.

 

I’m already planning out my exit when the next time I look up, the patient and the other guys are all looking at me. I suddenly feel scared, because they gawk at me as if I did some sort of murder. Before I could say something, Gyu-nim beats me to it.

Still in his raspy voice, he tells the others, and this is what should have been done all these years, “C-can I…h-have a word with W-Woohyun…al…alone?”

 


	4. Is It

 

_I hear a clicking sound across the air and it’s immediately followed by, “That’s a wrap-up! Thank you everyone, you did a good job today!” the PD-nim exclaims and everyone in the set starts to move out, tired but happy that the episode is finally done, and we should call it a day. Now that the episode we have shot today is climactic, we are extra blissful._

_I’m arranging my things and I feel my shoulder being tapped. I turn, and it’s the director. He gives me a smile. “I knew you had very strong acting potential, Woohyun-ssi. I am very proud that you’re putting it into action right now,”_

_I bow. “Thank you so much,”_

_“Your crying there was really impressive. Very convincing tears, I must say. It’s not caused by a foundation, I hope?” director-nim’s mouth forms a straight line in inquiry, though his eyes are playful._

_I shake my head with a laugh. “I’m afraid there is none, director-nim; maybe I’m just developing.”_ Lies. _“But thank you very much,”_

_He taps my back twice. “We’re going to eat pork rinds after this. Would you like to come with us?”_

_“No, thank you sir; I need to go home now, my mates are waiting for me,” I politely refuse._

_He nods his head. “I sure respect that. Congrats on your triple crown, anyway,”_

_I chuckle, rubbing the back of my head in both pride and embarrassment. “Hard work really pays off,”_

_“True that,” he winks. “Is it an EP?”_

_I shake my head slightly. “It’s our third full-length album, sir.”_

_“Oh,” he nods. “Good luck on your promotions,”_

_“Ne,”_

_“I must go, boy. Take care on your way home,”_

_“Yes, director-nim,”_

_And there the conversation ends, and as soon as I know no one is watching my face I look down and frown deeply, almost because of the unnerving feeling inside me._

_“Woohyun-ah, let’s go,” Manager-hyung, who was appointed to fetch me after the filming, tugged my arm, telling me to go._

_As soon as I step in the car the first question I ask is, “What time is it, Hyung?”_

_“It’s one o’clock in the morning,”_

_Over. Everything’s over. I’m already too late._

 

_“It was a pity you weren’t able to come, Woohyun-ah. Everyone had a blast and Sunggyu seemed a little sad because o’ your absence,” manager-hyung chuckles, and it annoys me how tactless he is. “Anyway, congrats on your taping today. I heard you did a great job,”_

_“Hm,” is the mere answer I give, too tired to open my mouth to speak of a decent reply._

_The rest of the drive home is in the form of a silent one, and with each kilometer conquered my agony worsens. What do I say when I get there? I should probably just greet him casually like nothing happened, like I was not absent on his very special day, like I wasn’t the core of why he was_ supposed _to be happy on his supposed-happy birthday. He toiled along greatly during the party, yes? He must have. It’s been a year since I started ignoring him now. What difference does it make if I ignore him on this day of the calendar?_

_The car eventually pulls over, and I’m startled because that caught me off-guard. I’m not even prepared yet. Nonetheless, armed with no gift, armed with no surprise for the birthday-boy, I boldly make my way to our dorm, carrying nothing but myself and my indifference._

_It’s a surprise that everyone is asleep this time at night—or should I say, day. They must have exhausted themselves to death from the party—evident from the chaos left unattended in the whole dorm. Strips of colored paper, party-hats, sticky fluid all over the floor which must have been the product of an icing-war, party poppers and all sorts of party props are scattered all around, I’m disgusted by the mess. I scrunch my nose, not because of the muck my slipper had just stepped on, but what had taken place during my absence. They really had fun. I’m glad, but why do I find myself…mad?_

_I slowly open the door so as not to arouse the person inside. There he is, lying face-down on the bed, breathing steadily, sleeping soundly. From where I stand I could even hear his snoring. While I look at Gyu-hyung’s sleeping figure my impression that the birthday bash must have been really amusing, I’m driven half-crazy by jealousy. Getting tired of having to bear with this suffocating feeling in my chest I remove my bag from my shoulder, and settle it on the floor. It makes a sound._

_“Umf,” Sunggyu-hyung grunts in his sleep, and moves in his position. I guess his sleep was only a little light that he awakes, and speaks, “You’re home,” he says in a gruff, sleepy voice._

_“I am.” I answer, and I suddenly find myself rude with only_ that _reply._

_Hyung hugs a pillow and leans on his right arm. With his eyes closed he queries, “How was the taping?”_

_“Good.” I cross my arms and remove my shirt over-head._

_Silence._

_Soon enough I’m in my pajamas and I’m ready to sleep; now do I just realize how tired I am from the taping. I’m settled down on the bed now—blanket over body and pillow under head, and just when my eyes are about to shut Sunggyu-hyung’s voice is heard once again. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”_

_I furrow my brows, though of course he couldn’t see because the room is pitch-black._ Stop talking. Stop talking to me. _I think but of course don’t say. I force out a chuckle that sounds pretty convincing. “Happy birthday, Sunggyu-hyung,”_

_He must have been fooled that he replies, “Haha, thanks, Woohyun-ah,”_

_And I snuggle with myself under the covers, laboring under the delusion that we are now finally going to sleep; no more unnerving, awkward conversations with my once closest-to hyung. But then just when the tendrils of slumber start to take me, I am disturbed. I seriously have the urge to yell now, but Gyu-hyung’s speech comes, in sorts: “Woohyun, why?”_

 

**_20th hour_ **

 

I feel a little uneasy in my position right now. Having taken the seat Sungyeol possessed a while ago, I am now face-to-face with the man I have been avoiding for the past few years of my life. I consume all my willpower to meet his gaze, and the next time I exhale I realize I haven’t been breathing.

“Annyeong…W-Woohyun-ssi,” Wrong. Why is he being formal all of a sudden?

“Hey, hyung,” I manage to get out of my mouth.

He budges in his position slightly, maybe for a more comfortable position for him. As he does this I hear grunts, and us much as I want to help him in his struggle, my body is not complying. I merely remain here watching him. “H…how are…y-you?” is this what happens when a person is dying? They turn angelic?

“I’m alright,” I sigh. _Stop beating around the bush._ I pay him a frown before he could utter another word. “What’s this thing with your lungs?”

Through his nose, I could hear an audible snort. “Y-you listened t-to Myungs-soo… yeah?”

“Yes. But I didn’t understand.” Anger wells up inside me, I don’t know why.  Dark thoughts occupy my mind. _I don’t care if you’re having difficulty speaking; I need to know what’s happening to you._

Gyu-nim closes his eyes. The sound of scratching sandpapers against each other forms words such as, “It was…i-i…idiopathic. I don’t know w-what happened…”

I find myself being silent after this. My eyes stay on the white surface of his bed-sheets until this makes me look up:

“Idiopathic…was that a-also why…W-Woohyun…?”

I furrow my brows. “What are you talking about?”

In a swift, sneaky movement which has me utterly off-guard my hand that is nearest to the bed is grabbed, that if I would not have composed myself I would have yelped. “Y-you…k-know…very-y we-ell…what I’m…t-talking about…” the words are squeezed between clenched teeth. I’m about to cancel my hand out of his hold but then he shifts his position again, with my hand as the guide.

My anger elevates to something that nears the definition of fury. But the better side of me takes over, that instead of letting out a yell I heave a sigh. “I don’t think we should talk about this, hyung. This is about you. Not me—not ever,”

He closes his eyes. He clears his throat, which aids him in speaking…a little. “Remember what happened that C-Christmas…W-Woohyun?”

The suffocation worsens. He’s not doing me a favor by reliving what I’ve been trying to kill.

 

 


	5. Easy

 

 

 

_More than anyone else in this world_

_I love you_

_So I hold back_

 

It’s not like hyung and I were ever together. We never were, we aren’t, and we never will be.

And that’s exactly what I hate about it.

In truth, I still feel guilty—very guilty—about not telling the _exact_ reason why I distanced myself from him. I am Nam Woohyun. I would always have the guts to say what I want to say. I would speak forthrightly, though not deliberately tactlessly, but nonetheless, I would not fear expressing myself just to show what I feel towards someone or something. I could always tell everything to Sunggyu-hyung: my roommate, my best-friend, hell—even how the fans tease us—my lover. Of course, that was only mere exaggeration, a hyperbolic comparison started by our fans that noticed our excessive closeness and doting toward each other. First it was just friendship, which later on bloomed into something that involved flutters in the stomach, and that was quite pleasant, but as the feeling grew stronger my self-scolds and self-loathe got more violent. Here’s the catch: I was the only one feeling those sensations. Falling for someone is not wrong in itself; sometimes it can’t be helped, even when, ah, let’s just say, you share a brotherhood with him. I knew that, but part of me didn’t want to admit so; every time I brooded over certain matters it would visit my mind, greatly disturbing me, damaging my confidence in myself and acceptance of my feelings. Was it wrong? Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. I don’t know the answer, and I never would bother to look into it again.

Gyu-hyung only saw me as a brother, a friend—I was happy with that fact, but that same happiness was eclipsed by pain. It was a very agonizing pain; so excruciating that I ended up mutilating myself, not in a physical sense but rather in a spiritual, emotional one—and it ultimately led to destroying whatever that was that was between me and Sunggyu-hyung.

Putting it simply, I avoided him.

Yes. That was what I did for years and years on end. Very moronic, huh? Call me a dumbass; hate me, kill me for my idiocy if you wish. But let me tell you one word that would clear up my name: cowardice. Yes. I was scared. I was afraid. I was reluctant to know what might happen once I ‘fessed, or was seen through, at all. It’s shallowness in its purest sense, but if you were in my shoes; you’re in constant denial, you can’t accept the truth, you _know_ what is ahead of you; if you knew these things, would you still risk what was most precious to you and lose it? If you know you could love, would it necessarily mean you would also be happy?

 

Is it too late now to tell him these things?

 

_Hyung, I love you. I’ve always had. I never had the guts to tell you because I was such a weakling. Hyung, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I broke our bond the most irrational, stupid way possible. I could not bring myself to tell you because every time I saw you, or even just a reminder of you—I would feel disgusted with myself because I’m in-love with someone whom I could never have. I knew such love stories existed, but I never had deemed of myself as the one in the position of the neglected lover. Hyung, will you forgive me if you know how much I hate myself right now? If I kill myself, will that be enough to meet the degree of your definition of penitence? I’ve taken for granted, or to put in better words—rejected, someone who treasured me, but never will be able to reciprocate my feelings for him. Was I already jumping to conclusions? I was. Exactly. I thought that such assumptions would lead me to no pain. I thought that distancing myself from you would eventually extinguish out these feelings, but what happened, hyung? Nothing. It only got worse. I was so full of myself that I forgot you needed me. I forgot that I could still stay as your friend rather than being a lover. Sure, you had confided in the other five guys, and I congratulate you for that, but I knew—and I know that you know, our bond was just unique. It was different from the ones you’ve had with the others, which was defined as one of the foundations of INFINITE itself. They called us WooGyu; we were married in their eyes, we were swooned over everytime we were sweet. Up until now, I still find that funny, though behind this laugh, I’m being killed. Let me ask you, hyung, what would have happened if I told you I loved you? Would you have loved me by then? That is, the same way I did—and still do?_

 

Those thoughts spin in my mind for five seconds, and that train of contemplation is interrupted when hyung asks me about what happened during _that_ Christmas.

Sure, we had shared an awful lot of Christmas, but the one standing out in my thoughts is also the exact one hyung is thinking of.

 

 

 

_This ought to be a very wonderful Christmas because our fifth full-length album has been such an enormous success; it sold thousands and thousands of copies, and the Inspirit fanbase seemed to have increased in an exponential sequence. We have a lot to thank for, and it makes me happy that despite of the fame, both here in the country and overseas, we are still the same silly boys that debuted seven years ago. Many are telling us that we are going to win the Artist of the Year award, and though we’re not expecting, we are already thanking for it._

_The Thanksgiving Party is not very grand compared to how it should be. We’re complete; there are the managers, of course, the seven of us (I decided not to be a party-pooper this time) that Myungsoo is actually surprised about it. I knew all along that Myungsoo had seen through me. He is the only one who knows of it. I don’t know how the hell he figured it out, but sure, somewhere over the rainbow he had discovered I had these suppressed fondness for our leader. What the others understood was the false idea that Sunggyu-hyung and I had a quarrel, and decided to leave us alone to it, but Myungsoo was the only one that saw my avoidance of Gyu-nim. How much I spent less time in the dorm whenever he was around, and how prickly I was every time._

_We were just done exchanging gifts; Sunggyu-hyung gave me a pricey watch as a gift. He sure was disheartened by how cold I accepted it._

_“Woohyun?” though there was a ruckus going on in the background caused by the barrel of laughs at how each one received either nice or funny presents, as soon as I heard that voice, the backdrop was ignored and my insides churned at the sound._

_“Mwoh?” I mouthed, self-satisfied at how I kept my voice fair._

_Sunggyu-hyung acted as if we never knew each other. It’s been three years since I started giving him the cold shoulder—goodness knows how I was able to do that—but knowing that I regarded him with indifference, he decided to be formal everytime he approached me._ Good decision, _that’s what I would always think. “Merry Christmas,” he says, handing me a box._

_I forced the corners of my mouth to turn upward. “Thank you, Sunggyu-hyung,”_

_A pure smile broke out in his face, maybe laboring under the delusion that everything was alright once again. He was about to open his arms for an embrace, but I beat him to it. I held out my arm, offering my hand for a hand-shake._

_“Merry Christmas too,” I say, still smiling._

_His expression turned to a crestfallen one. But he quickly recovered, and forced his mouth back to its straight line again. “Yeah.”_

_Presently, we are seated around a table, with stocks of wine and shot-glasses for each and every one of us. We’re playing spin-the-bottle, and whoever the mouth of the bottle is pointed he must take a shot first before confessing something, or being asked. We have been playing for half an hour now, and we are all less than sober._

_The bottle spins and it stops, pointing our maknae, and we ask him how he’d like to do it. He says he wants to be asked any question, no boundaries. While each of us try to think clearly with our intoxicated  minds, Sungyeol breaks the brainstorm and cheers, with a red face and hiccups in between, “Sungjong-ah, what do you think is your greatest achievement this year?”_

_“That? Pff,” Hoya flaps his hand and snorts, discontented._

_“That’s lame. Another question!” Sunggyu-hyung protests, waving an arm in the air._

_Sungjong dismisses the argument and waves his hand to and fro in graceful, slow motion to clear up. “Nah-nah, it’s okay, hyung—” here he covers his mouth for a while to hiccough. “—I’ve had many an achievement this year, but there’s this one I’m really proud of,”_

_“What is it?” I ask, and take an unpermitted shot in the glass._

_Sungjong leans forward and talks in a very drunken voice, pointing each one of us, “This year, I banged a girl.”_

_And there’s a chorus of “HOOO!” in explosion across the table, and Myungsoo, the one who’s sitting next to Sungjong, ruffles his head so hard maknae’s hair is ruined._

_“Congratulations!!!” Dongwoo yells. “For our manly maknae Lee Sungjong, cheers!” he raises his glass in the air and we follow his example._

_“Cheers!!!”_

 

_We really are drunk._

 

_A little later, it’s Sunggyu-hyung’s turn. “Ya, listen to me!” he demands, and we all turn our attention to him. “I have an announcement to make!”_

_When he’s sure he’s got everyone’s attention, he clears his throat and shifts his glass lightly with his middle finger and thumb. “I know this won’t be really helped, and I already told the President and everyone about it, so all I have to do now is let you guys know…”_

_“Cut the crap and just say it!” Hoya exclaims, we all laugh. Even me._

_“Yeah, right,” hyung grunts and continues, “I have decided to…enlist in the army next year,”_

_And he’s replied with the exact opposite of the response to Sungjong a while ago._

_We all sit  in awkward silence, each supposed cheer hanging on our lips. Every form of life stills in the room; every creature holding its breath waiting for someone to give a reaction fit for the news._

_I don’t know if it’s just my imagination because I am really drunk now; or it really happens. I hear something inside me break, with small, almost noiseless, yet definite—sound of a crack. Against my mind’s will, my body does it on itself. I push myself against the table, so hard, that there’s an explosion of wine jumping out of glasses, falling and breaking of bottles. Though wobbly, I rapidly make my walk-out._

 

_“Hyung!”_

_“Woohyun-ah!”_

_“Woohyun-hyung!”_

 

_Those voices call me, but I don’t bother turning. My feet lead me to the room the Sunggyu-hyung and I share. I slam the door behind me and throw a fit inside, throwing objects here and there, destroying things, putting everything in chaos. I’m screaming so loud I couldn’t hear my own voice. Soon enough the door opens and that familiar voice thunders, “WOOHYUN!”_

_“Get out!” I throw something at him; though I don’t know what exactly it is, I know it’s a metal._

_Sunggyu-hyung dodges it and walks towards me and imprisons me in a hug. “NAM WOOHYUN, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?! CALM DOWN!” his voice is near my ear I could smell his alcoholic breath, which intoxicates me even more._

_“Screw you, hyung! Screw you! Are you really that dumb that you don’t know?!” I thrash against him, trying to break away, but hyung stays firm._

_“CALM DOWN!” he yells again, and I continue to thrash. My arms are encircled within his hug so I couldn’t move properly; I keep on fighting back, in pathetic attempts. I’m wailing now, wailing so loud, sobbing like a child bereft of its playtime, a lover who’s about to lose someone he loves the most._

_“Hyung…” I slowly slide down on the floor, my strength petering. “Hyung…” I say again, almost in a whine, with tears sliding down my cheeks. “Gyu-hyung…” I don’t know what my head is leaning on right now but it sure is firm._

_“Woohyun-ah… stop crying,” that voice comes behind my head, and I realize I’m leaning on his shoulder._

_“Hyung…”_

_“Why are you crying, Nam Woohyun? Hey,” he shakes me a little. “You… I…I thought I was of no value to you?”_

_“Sunggyu-hyung…” I don’t stop sobbing. My whole body feels like it’s vibrating. “Don’t…”_

_“Listen to me,” he shakes me in his embrace. “I’m not going anywhere. Just the army. Woohyun, listen.”_

_“Are you leaving….hyung…?” I’m about to collapse now._

_“No,” he makes this impatient snort. “Look. Woohyun-ah…I need you to be strong for me. You kids…are all grown-up now. I wasn’t the good leader at all, but look here. Woohyun-ah, look at me,” he takes possession of my cheeks and makes me face him. “You…will be a better leader than I ever will. You and Dongwoo, you’re the oldest ones now. It’s up to you now. Hyung will be back.” He pauses for a breath. “I won’t be GgolGyu the next time we meet,”_

_“D-don’t…don’t go anywhere…” I hic._

_I could hear him exert a monosyllable of a laugh._

_“You’re really gonna leave us…me…” I mumble. Tears still continue to skid down my cheeks as I cry with closed eyes and knitted brows. Slowly, oh so slowly, my eyelids become unbearably heavy. My body realizes how tired it is._

_Something puts itself in the distance between my brows. A finger, maybe? “Woohyun, after all these years…this is what you give me?” his next words are unheard as I am slowly drowned in the abyss of sleep, but before I completely collapse, something is on my forehead; affectionately, brotherly, it kisses my forehead despite of the layer of bangs._

 

_The next morning, I find the word ‘tears’ echoing again and again in my head for an unknown reason._

 

 

“That was…my l-last…memory of you…W-Woohyu-un…” his white lips stretch in a pained smile. “Unt-til n-now…I…still ca-n’t believe y-you cried over s-such a s-small…matter,”

I remain silent, but I scowl.

“S-say something,” he breathes, and smiles.

I meet his gaze with a glare. “You want me to say something?” I pour everything out now. “Just die, hyung! Just go die already!” I yell. “Let go of us for Pete’s sake. You’re on your deathbed now! Die, so I won’t have to bear the blame everyone puts on me! Die, so I don’t have to live each day hoping you’ll survive but yet again knowing I’ll still lose you! Die, so that everyone will stop getting hurt! Are you happy now? You’re the center of the show! Now go make your dramatic exit out of life so I won’t have to bawl my eyes out every day over someone that I know who’s eventually going to be gone!” I bite my lip, and gather my breath.

Hyung closes his eyes and says in a small voice, “You-you’re the one…n-not letting g-go of me, W-Woohyun…”

My brows twitch. I suddenly find myself speechless despite of the rage inside me. I find myself glued to my seat, developing interest on my clenched fist on my lap. I breathe in with a sharp sound, and exhale with a shaky one.

Sunggyu-hyung’s arm reaches for something that’s at the bed-side table. “T-there’s a p-paper in that drawer…w-will y-you read that let-ter for me…?”

I’m still angry, of course, but nonetheless I obediently do as he says. Opening the drawer, I immediately see a white paper that seems to have been sitting there for months now, judging from its earned dust. I pick it up, and my eyes widen at the sight of the name on the back of the folded paper, who is most probably the receiver.

 

_Nam Woohyun_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao 15-year-old me was on some other shit....


	6. Moribund

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> make sure to listen to only tears while reading this chapter! lmao\\\

_I don’t have anything I can give you_

_But I’m missing you_

_I can’t even give you loving words_

_But I’m missing you_

_I can’t even boldly wish for you to be mine_

_But I’m missing you_

 

 

 

 

**_21st hour_ **

 

My breath is pitched short at my throat at the sight of the name, and for a moment, I kind of doubt who this Nam Woohyun is. _Hyung, really? You just really want to die with flying colors, huh?_ After all these years, hyung would still think of me? After all those years of disregard, disgust and disdain, was I still really important to him that he would write me a letter? Kim Sunggyu, such a moron. You really still do butt yourself into my life even when you’re already dying.

 

 

I give him a glare, with brows scowled and teeth gritted behind mouth, trying to tell him telepathically _what the hell is this?_ He just responds with a gentle bob of the head and mouths, _read it._

 

I place my sight back on the piece of folded paper and flapping sounds are heard when I flip the pleats open. I sigh, so as to show him how getting tired I am of this nonsense, though my insides are shaking. I know there’s nothing to be worried about, but why am I afraid? Is he going to tell me how much I’ve hurt him, which will, in turn, also hurt me once it’s rubbed on my face? _I know I was selfish hyung, why do you still have to do this?_ Will he tell me he hates me for ignoring him all these years? Good. Because that’s all I’m waiting for. For him to tell me I’m such a coward, for not telling him whatever reason lies beneath all the breakage of our friendship.

Taking a deep breath, I clear my throat after exhaling. I think that I will never be able to finish this letter, but nonetheless, hesitantly, shakily, my mouth forms the words—

 

 

_To my band-mate, my best friend, my brother, Nam Woohyun:_

_I guess you feel really weird right now because I wrote a letter for you. Thought I’d never be this thoughtful, huh? Well maybe this is what people say. When a person already knows when he’s going to die, he gets sappy and all, being corny and say words of love to those he loves. Maybe they’re right. That’s exactly what I’m feeling right now. Nam Woohyun, I’m running out of time. It could be that after having written this letter—or even in the middle of this composition, at all, I would take my last breath, and never be able to tell you the things I’ve been dying to tell you all these years, and while I’m here, in my deathbed, watching the hourglass of my life running out of its sand. I’m getting disgusted of these really weird introductions now; it’s not my stuff, so let’s just get this over with._

_You reading this letter now could only mean either of the two things: I’m already dead, or I must have found a way to make you read this aloud, for me to see. I’m not even sure about the latter, but nonetheless, read on. I want you to be the first and last one to know of my dying wish. What is it, you ask? Look at yourself right now. The very fact that you’re holding this piece of paper is the fulfillment of the last thing I asked from God. It makes me happy, Woohyun—you reading this. You—Nam Woohyun—you, whom I adored the most, the friend I hold dearest to my heart—you, who rejected me the most hurtful, excruciating way, and the reason still remains as a mystery to me now; you—whom I blame for the emptiness that’s in my heart. I suppose you’re thinking I’m making you feel bad about yourself right now, but let me tell you: you’re right. Yes. I am. The least I could do now is make you feel the pain you’ve caused me all these years. Do you know how it is to lose the friend you loved the most, Woohyun? You probably didn’t, don’t, and never will. That’s because you’re the one who_ left. _Not the one who_ was _left._

 _Before I get to blaming you even more, let me first tell some of my stories that you’re not interested in. I want to give you an update on how much you have missed these past few years. How was I, Woohyun? Do you want to know? Putting it simply, I was okay. I_ am _okay. But being okay is different from being happy, don’t you think? In truth, despite of the fact that I was okay I could not remember a time, in the midst of you ignoring me, that I was happy. They say happiness is more enjoyed when you share it with someone. I guess they’re right. I learned the veracity of that quote from a different point of view. Because even when I was already back from the army, because even when my solo album was a huge success, because even when I had many triumphs, I had no one whom I could really tell what I truly felt. Someone was absent. My best friend was absent. Joy is a pleasant thing, yes? But why was it not true for me? Why, Woohyun? Do you know the answer?_

_I think you’re already getting a hold of what I’m trying to say. I truly hope you’re getting my point, because that’s the least thing I could make you realize right now. Because it’s late. Too late. It’s already too late to patch back whatever that was broken, already too late to forgive and be forgiven, too late to make even just one last happy memory with you._

_When I was in the army, I admit, it was really hard for me. My superiors kept on ordering me around; and of course I had to do those orders because I was obliged to and I was being taught proper discipline; I was not allowed to just sit and do nothing because_ I _was the one that had to do_ something _. It was difficult, especially because I had to adjust and all, but the thought, the inspiration, that you guys were waiting for me outside, made me know my strength had a foundation. That I was not only laboring under a Korean mandate, but rather, also to prove you guys that I am really worth something and I am not LoserGyu that you’re accustomed to referring me to. The thought of giving you some space also made me work hard. Sure, I’ve left you alone for years prior to my enlistment in the army, but part of me knew that wasn’t enough. I had to completely be gone from your sight. If not forever, for a while, at least. I labored under the delusion that once I was out of the camp you would have missed me; absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say. I thought that you missing me would be enough to repair the unknown damage in our friendship, our brotherhood._

 _Two years passed before I even knew it. It was amazing, because I never knew I would toil in there, the army, with much effort, but easy difficulty. I was very happy because I was going to see you guys again. And I was very much excited to see how my best friend (that left me) was. Everyone welcomed me, even you—but in the warmth of all the arms that accommodated me back yours were the coldest._ What have I done wrong this time? _I would always ask myself that. I waited for you to enlist in the army and be back, to see if something changed in you—well, you did, you learned more discipline, you were less smug, but it was the same. Who was I fooling? You continued to treat me with indifference. The gap was getting bigger and bigger between us. Whatever bridge I would try to build, you would break it with your cold, monosyllabic answers and aloofness. It had me helpless. Eventually I gave up. I left to time and chance the fixing of this friendship. I thought I had all the time in the world, until one day, I knew I was going to die._

 _Idiopathic. The doctors said it was idiopathic, Woohyun. I looked up on the dictionary what the hell that word meant, and it said, ‘without apparent cause’. Idiopathic. Was that also it, Woohyun? Idiopathic—why you avoided me? Because as far as I’m concerned, I know no cause that would be the reason why we have to treat each other like this. Was there anything wrong that I did? Was I too full of myself? I must have been—I’ve_ always _had been, but you would tell me. Woohyun, will you forgive me if you know how much I hate myself right now? If I kill myself, will that be enough to meet the degree of your definition of penitence? Was there anything I could not give you? Was I lacking in something? Was there anything you were not pleased with? You could have told me, you know that, right? You could always tell everything to Sunggyu-hyung: your room-mate, your best-friend, hell—even how the fans tease us—your lover. But why, Nam Woohyun? Why did you choose to stay silent with your rationale? Is there really a concrete reason why you gave me the cold shoulder, or is everything just like my sickness—idiopathic?_

 _Remember when you said this, Woohyun? “_ A Kim Sunggyu without me is like chopsticks without a spoon, a thread without a needle, a kite without a string!” _haha. Such smug words coming from our very own greasy tree. When I first heard of that I was kind of sickened, knowing how dependent I was on you. But then I realized…nothing was wrong in that. While I was in the army—ah, yes, again, the army—I knew that without you, it’d be really hard for me. Sure, you’re not my lover; we don’t have any romantic relationship between us at all, but with no one cleaning up the mess on my bunk and no one to guide me on how to do this, do that—really, Woohyun, that was so hard for me to handle. How I managed to survive without your hand guiding me even before I got into the army was a miracle._

_The string had cut itself from the kite, Woohyun. And that kite was floating aimlessly up in the air, being swayed to and fro helplessly by the wind, waiting for thunder to strike it down. And I believe, Woohyun, that that thunder has already stricken, and the kite is dying._

 

 

Here I pause for a deep breath. This is when do I just realize that I have been reading non-stop. I inhale a short breath, and let my eyes land on Sunggyu-hyung. He’s already closing his eyes. A sense of panic dawns on me, worrying _Is he dead?_ But then he isn’t, as I see that his chest is still heaving up and down, in a very slow pace. He breathes, through that sandpaper voice of his, “Go on…”

 

Almost there.

 

I open my mouth again and read,

 

_You know, Woohyun, I personally think that up to my death I will never know the cause why you avoided me. I would like very much to insist, but I know that no matter how many whys and wherefores I’m going to ask you, you’d never tell me. I’m giving you the freedom, then. You can keep the secret. If you’re ready, tell me. Maybe not in this world, but someplace else._ _Promise me, by that time, you’re not going to ignore me, yeah? I heard that that place offers no feeling of pain. So I hope that we could talk there freely, and laugh at our idiocies when we were still in this world._

_I’m going to tell one last tale before I put this letter to a close, Woohyun. For the umpteenth time, this story goes back to the time when I was in the army. Once we had this mini-party at the camp, as a celebration for a holiday, and the soldiers were gathered in a place to have some, let’s just say, program. You know what, I was asked to climb up on stage and sing a song. They all cheered for me, knowing who I was, and though the feeling of singing in front of many people was already quite forgotten in me, I sang for them. Can you guess what I sang? The famous ballad track from our EP Infinitize. Yes, Woohyun. I sang ‘Only Tears’. I wish you knew how weird it was for me singing the song of seven people. For once or twice I found myself having to hold my throat to avoid my voice from cracking on your parts. You know what, I’ve always had this favorite line in the song. It went like this:_

I know that my heart is wherever you are;  
Close enough our breaths can touch—  
Always in that same place

 

 _It was sadness, Woohyun—sadness in its purest form. You know where that ‘place’ the song is talking about lies? In the past. The time in the past when we were still very close; we had almost the same heartbeat, our breaths were like hitched together—we were one, Woohyun. When our brotherhood was still functioning, we were one. And I believe, it will always,_ always _be in that same place. Because we can never turn back the past, and even if we try to and succeed, it’s only a matter of seconds for the happiness to die out._

_Yes, I know. You’re really sick of my stories now. Just a few more lines and your eyes will rest. Just a few more, Woohyun, please? This will be the last favor I will ask of you._

_Look at the little cabinet beneath the drawer where I stored this paper. There you will see a box containing letters for each of the members. Yes, Woohyun—stop it you assuming tree you; you’re not the only one I made a letter for. But let me tell you—yours is the last one I wrote. Because, as the banal saying goes, save the best for last, right?_

 

My eyes are already getting blurry. I could feel the emotions flowing through the written words, and those emotions mean so much it makes the handwriting almost too illegible to read.

 

_Be a good boy, Nam Woohyun—I’m sorry I won’t be able to be the uncle of your future children just like how I promised you, but please—don’t forget to tell them about the leader of the boy band you were once a member of. The Icon of Dissatisfaction, the Old Man Gyu, the legend Kim Sunggyu, your best friend._

              

_It is late now, and I am very tired. I love you, always._

_Goodbye, for now._

 

_Until we meet again,_

_Kim Sunggyu_

 

 

 

I fold back the paper back to how the pleats were fashioned a while ago, my heart broken into irreversible billion pieces. My throat is already too tight to speak with, and my eyes are already stinging. I catch sight of Sunggyu-hyung and he’s already smiling at me. Tenderly, lovingly. Then before I know it, everything stops.

"Hyung...?"

He takes this very sharp breath—probably his last, and his body stills; the rising of the chest falling, never coming back up again.

At the same time, when I hear his gasp, that’s when the dew rolls down.

 

But it’s late.

 

Too late.

 

 

 


	7. Neither

 

“Hyung…?” I mouth again, still waiting for his chest to rise once more. I stand up from my seat and shake him by the shoulders with both hands. “Sunggyu-hyung? Sunggyu-hyung!” I’m shaking him violently, but he wouldn’t budge. What the hell. “Hyung, stop joking! It’s not funny! We’re not even done talking yet!” I scream his name at the top of my lungs, over and over. My insides are shaking, my whole being’s convulsing uncontrollably. “I—I haven’t even told you my reason! G-Gyu-hyung! I haven’t even told you I love you yet! You moron, wake up! Wake the hell up! I’m not even…” I eventually lose my strength; after beating the blankets repeatedly I slowly slide onto the floor, and sink my chin onto the white, crumpled bed sheets. I take his hand with both of mine. “Sunggyu-hyung…wake up…I…I’m not yet done…l-loving you...” with tears streaming like waterfalls down my face, finally, after hours and hours of no emotion. I kiss his hand—mildly, wishfully, like that would ever bring him back to life, as my body rocks to and fro slowly, while I cajole him into waking. But nothing happens. No miracle is going to happen. Not now, not ever.

The door bursts open and Hoya rushes in, with the others in tow.

“Woohyun-hyung, what happened?!” Sungjong demands in terror, his white face made paler with a sense of panic too powerful to be dismissed.

Sungyeol walks with such huge steps and cries as soon as he reaches hyung’s side, “Sunggyu-hyung!”

“He’s…” I try to reason, in between hics. “He’s…he’s gone…”

“You—“ someone takes me by the collar and the next thing I know, I’m thrown to one side with such strong force. “YOU, WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?!” Hoya’s piercing glare jabs right into my soul; his eyes are flaring with fury and I know—he’s going to kill me. “THAT JUST WASN’T ENOUGH FOR YOU, HUH? NAM WOOHYUN, DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH WE BLAME YOU FOR THIS? YOU BREAKING HYUNG’S SOUL WAS JUST NOT ENOUGH FOR YOU, REALLY? NOW YOU GRIEVED HIM TO DEATH. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!” he’s shaking me by the collar. I am half-dead with tiredness; my eyes are getting droopy. My whole body is shuddering, numbness and all it is.

“Hoya, Hoya!” Dongwoo screams and grasps Hoya’s arms, prying him away from me. Sungjong backs me up, and as they pull us apart, I stagger backward. If not for Sungjong, I would have fallen face-first onto the floor. The last thing I remember hearing is maknae exclaiming “Hyung!” and he catches me on time, and everything is black.

                                                                                                                                               

 

**_59th hour_ **

There’s a soft melody that plays just outside of the house, the peaceful, harmonious chorus of cicadas that makes the midnight so beautifully cozy and soft, turning everything a place of reflection and for improvement through self-meditation.

 

The sky up above, as I look up, seems to be a battle of black and blue waves trying to weave themselves together, with a sprinkle of shiny stars in their middle that hints as their demarcation line, telling anyone who sees that _they can never be together._ It’s a cool, chilly weather outside, but the wind is benign enough to make you go out without that much thick of a sweater, and without necessarily having to freeze yourself.

This condition is perfect for a walk around this big house, probably just to sniff some air or have friendly conversations with someone but I, the ultimate kill-joy, am sitting here alone—alone, once more, as I try to kill myself slowly with the poison known as sadness.

 _I can’t hold your hand_  
But I’m missing you  
I’m worried I might just have my tears to hold  
So I’m missing you

 

Hyung was right. The song really makes sense. This is the perfect hymn for both of us. Every line pierces itself into my chest, impaling me, draining out every drop of blood in my heart until there is nothing left—nothing left—nothing at all. What disappoints me though, is that I’m still alive. When I heave a breath I’m still here, flesh and blood, not the one who’s underground right now, with green grass above him. If some people wish they could turn back time, they would—like the very cliché drive of happenings every time there is a tragedy. But I, the greatest moron that ever walked this planet, regret nothing. I _know_ I have wasted an awful lot of chances, but no—I know myself it’s too late to regret now. The least I can do is suffer, bear the weight of the burden borne of my own selfishness.

Sunggyu-hyung would not be happy if he sees me right now. I know that. So I try to force myself to smile, giving my best to move on, though inside me I know my chance of being whole again is as good as nothing. But it’s like what they say in Broadway—the show must go on. _I_ have to go on. I will have to go on with the show called my own life. I will have to live the rest of the years, because hyung wasn’t able to. If I cannot live for myself, then I will, for him. I will live this empty life, with that last ember of hope within me that somewhere down that road, someone will pick me up, rescue me from this perdition.

_But it still hurts, hyung._

 

It took me a day to love.

Now it will take me forever to say goodbye.

 

“Good night, hyung,” I smile, as I dive onto the bed and lie down. “Good night, guys,” I say, to the picture-frames on the bedside table. I close my eyes; letting the tendrils of sleep take me away again, bring me somewhere I can escape from the hurt, wherein I can temporarily forget about the permanent loss and gain happiness, at least for a while.

My consciousness drifts me to dreamland; my mind shows me a scene, a _very familiar_ scene that must have taken place years ago. It was a scene where Sunggyu-hyung was hugging a drunken, howling version of me, sobbing over something I could not remember. Someone was leaving, I think? Having lost my strength, I collapse into his hold, and while I continue to cry in my sleep, Sunggyu-hyung puts his finger on the crease between my brows, and whispers something. In that dream, it makes me hear the last words hyung said that I hadn’t heard the first time.

 

 

 

 

**_7 months, after_ **

 

Panting, I wipe the sweat off my forehead with one hand and smile at the stone standing proudly before me. “The things I do for you, hyung. It’s not like climbing this hill is as easy as you think. Why don’t you try it yourself?  I bet you’d be grumbling endlessly at the first step,” I laugh, and stoop down to settle the flowers on the tombstone. I clasp my hands as if in prayer, and close my eyes for a brief moment. Once they’re open I grin, “How have you been, hyung?”

Silence.

I place my hands in the pockets of my knitted sweater and as I sigh, my breath comes out in clouds. “I have a story to tell, hyung. You know what, President says he plans to have Infinite their comeback after all these years,” I tilt my head to one side. “But I think I’m not really happy with the idea. Since, of course, you’re not around anymore, and I will have to do your lines since we’re the main vocals, and that would give me more exposure. And I know, you’re gonna get jealous of that,” I wiggle my brows in teasing, chuckling a little. “What do you think hyung? Are you in favor of it? Because everything will not be the same now…” my sentence trails off, and I find myself looking blankly at the vertically emblazoned name on the tombstone. Now do I just realize that the only answers I get are the chirping of the birds, and the rustling of the trees by the gusts of wind. My eyes flatten, and the corners of my mouth slowly descend back to form a straight line on my sullen face.

 

_It’s been seven months since you left. Seven months is already quite a time, so I must have moved on. Have I really, hyung? I don’t know. I only learnt to bear with the pain. They say time soothes all sorrows, but I would beg to differ. Time doesn’t heal anything. It only teaches you how to live with the pain. To be honest I miss you every day; I miss you, oh so much that it’s killing me. There’s this aching inside me that I want to get rid of, but the problem is I don’t know where it lies exactly—because everything—everything just hurts. I miss your voice, hyung; your rants, your dissatisfactions about life, your tyranny. This is kind of ironic since in all those years that I ignored you, it seemed like I hadn’t missed you a bit. Well, I did, of course—but I was young and stupid, and I didn’t know that it’s not every day you would be there. That the promise of death lies just somewhere around the corner; and it would take away the one you most love without your guard. Yes, hyung. That was what your death had taught me. Hyung, maybe—just maybe, that if ever I would come across to loving someone as I did to you, I’d tell that person immediately. I definitely will. But in the meantime, I’ll just spend my time bawling my eyes out over you—my best friend, my one and only unrequited love, Kim Sunggyu._

 

“Hurry up, hyung! Sunggyu-hyung is waiting for us!” there’s a light, thin voice that echoes across the chilly spring wind, and in the familiarity of the sound my head turns. I turn my head and there is Sungjong, carrying a bouquet of flowers and walking backwards, while flapping his hand at the one who’s following him.

“Coming, coming! Geez, you seem to be really excited about this,” Sungyeol voices with a sigh, though his gummy smiles are showing.

I stand still until Sungjong is a pace away from me. There, he sees me. The smile on his face slowly fades, and he mouths, almost incredulously, “Woohyun-hyung,”

“Hello,” I greet casually, with a timid smile.

Sungyeol walks past him and playfully slaps me on the arm. “You should’ve notified us of your visit. We could’ve had lunch together before coming here,”

“Ani, ani,” I dismissively wave my hand. “It’s okay. Besides, I wanted to be alone with Sunggyu-hyung,”

Sungjong places his bouquet besides mine. “How are you, hyung?” he asks.

“I’m okay,” lies. “What about you guys? You’ve heard what President said, haven’t you?” in truth since Gyu-hyung’s death, the members and I still maintained communication, but only very minimal. These past few months I felt like an outcast; I think they still blame me for our leader’s death. Serves me right. Of course that was logically incorrect, since it was really an ailment that killed our Gyu-nim, but we are such complicated beings, that the superstition that depression was what worsened his condition, and that was apparently caused by me. Up to hyung’s last breath, we were never able to get reconciled. Hyung never knew of the reason why I avoided him. Such a pity. But whose fault was it? Of course, mine.

“We’re alright,” Sungyeol answers. “And yes, we’ve heard of it. I’m not really in favor of it, though…”

Sungjong aligns himself in our arrangement in front of the tombstone. “Me too. President says we should have it, before I go to the army, but…no. I don’t think so. I don’t know what the other three will think, but Infinite will always be seven. Without Sunggyu-hyung, we’re only ourselves, individually,”

“Such strong words coming from our maknae!” A different voice exclaims, and in synch, we turn. Bathing in the orange sunset, there is Jang Dongwoo, waving an arm in the air like the hyper dinosaur he’s always been. “Sungjongie, I missed you,” he encloses Sungjong in a huge hug, he nearly squeezes the breath out of him. “Hello, Sungyeol.” He grins at the other one. Then his gaze meets mine. His aura relaxes a tad, and he smiles, along with a breath, “Woohyun-ah, how are you?”

I let a second pass before gracefully replying, “Good,”

Dongwoo looks over his shoulder, as if looking for someone that should have been behind him. “Kim Myungsoo! Hoya! Hurry! Everyone’s here!”

And the two approach, each carrying flowers.

I glance at Sunggyu-hyung’s tombstone and I silently think, amused, _you’ll look like a garden now, hyung._ Myungsoo first approaches me and offers a hug.

“Good to see you, Woohyun-hyung,”

“Same here,”

When we pull apart, Hoya is already standing beside him. “Woohyun-hyung,” he timidly says, a little shy. He hadn’t talked to me since Gyu-hyung’s death.

“Hi, Howon,” and in one, automatic moment, we embrace, a little too abruptly, and while we’re hugging he discreetly whispers into my ear,

“I’m sorry, hyung,”

“Apology accepted,” I reply in a hushed voice, and tap his back. “You didn’t even need to say sorry, at all,” _because it really was my fault._ I silently add.

“So what did Sunggyu-hyung say?” Dongwoo playfully muses, looking at the tombstone then at me.

I force a smile. “He says he’s alright. He says we should really take our time here; there no one bullies him. No one calls him a loser,”

And everyone cracks up at that.

Myungsoo settles on one knee and move the flowers forwards the stone a little. “I read your letter, hyung. I didn’t know you’d actually thought of us before you left,” he smiles. “My movie was a huge success, hyung. I heeded your advice,”

Before the silence gets too long, Sungyeol speaks to our leader. “We’ve decided not to do the comeback, hyung.” he sniffs once, and as he tries not to fall into crying, Hoya soothes his back. “Remember when we guested in Weekly Idol? They said you should look at Infinite without you. We would do excellently. You remember we agreed to that, right? Well, Sunggyu-hyung…of course that wouldn’t be true. Infinite without Kim Sunggyu is just…nothing. Infinite itself would be non-existent. We’d just stand alone as six people—like Sungjong said, individually; and hyung…” Choding glances at us, one by one. He looks back at the stone. “We miss you. We miss our Old Man Gyu. Our Gyu-nim. You miss us too, right?” and he surrenders to Myungsoo for a comforting hug.

“My turn,” Sungjong whips his hair once and swallows, before he could go on so his voice would not be shaky. “Sunggyu-hyung…you know… I’ll be enlisting next week. Too bad you won’t be there. But you said you’d be coming, right? I hope you will. If you’re not too busy, watch over me. I really have no idea what they do there, so maybe…you could help me? I will work hard. You and the guys will inspire me to work hard,” there he stops, and secretly wipes a dew from the corner of his eye.

“They said it all,” Hoya chuckles. “Oh, about your letter, Sunggyu-hyung. No, I regret nothing, just so you know,” he sticks his tongue out at Gyu-nim. “But, really, hyung. I would miss retaliating on you in behalf of Sungjong. I would miss bratting around now since you’re not here anymore. But maybe next time, when we see each other again?” he purses his lips. “Have a good time there, hyung. We’ll see each other soon—but not too soon,” and we all laugh at that.

“Gyujiji!” it’s Dongwoo’s turn. “Why didn’t you tell me that managing these kids were so hard? Now I have to do all the treating since I’m the oldest now,” he pouts. “Jongie will be going to camp next week. We will go with him hyung; wish maknae luck, okay?” he looks at us and suggests, “Come on; let’s do one ‘fighting!’ while Sunggyu-hyung is here so Sungjong will be energized!” everyone fixes himself, and after Dongwoo counts, “One, two, three—“

“Fighting!” we all do a fist-pump. We clap hands, and Sungjong says, “Thank you, Sunggyu-hyung,”

Now everyone’s done saying his speech.

“What about you, Woohyun-hyung? You have something to say to Sunggyu-hyung?” Myungsoo queries.

I turn to the tablet. I shake my head slightly. “I’ve told him everything I wanted to say,” when in fact the truth is the exact opposite of that.

“That’s a wrap-up, then,” Hoya claps his hand twice. “I have taping after this. Meanwhile, why don’t we go and have some coffee? It’s really chilly now,” he invites.

“No problem,” I shrug, assenting.

“I’m in!”

“Count me in!”

“Good!” Hoya kneels down a little to wave at the tombstone. “We’ll visit again some time, Sunggyu-hyung. Don’t you worry,”

“We’ll be going, hyung,” Sungyeol puts an arm around my neck. “See you next time!”

We are like fools getting no answers, but nonetheless, as we walk away, we bid, except for me—

“Bye, hyung!”

“Goodbye, Sunggyu-hyung!”

And as we pile into our cars, and drive away, the words _I love you, hyung_ still remain hanging on my lips, unspoken.

 

Later that night, before I go to sleep, I set our song, ‘Only Tears’ as my lullaby. Just before I completely fall asleep, the song ends, and the last line is owned by Sunggyu-hyung.

_I can’t tell you to stay with me_

_But I’m missing you_

_So it’s too much, but in the end_

_It’s because I’m a man who has nothing but his own heart_

 

He’s absolutely right. I’m suffering now because of my own selfishness—I’m someone who owns nothing but his own heart, and now it’s too much, because missing him is the only thing I could do.

I curl up in a ball, salty liquid skidding down my cheeks, as I sob myself to sleep.

Yes. What hyung said was true. After all these years, this is what I will ever afford to give him.

 

Tears.

Only tears.

 

 

 

 

_\- e n d -_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bye felicia

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted from AFF! I feel like duplicating my works idk


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